


Curtesy Call

by TheTrainTicket



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24237991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrainTicket/pseuds/TheTrainTicket
Summary: "Oh, my god!  Hi!"
Relationships: Black Magician Girl | Dark Magician Girl/Yami Marik
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7
Collections: Fake Outs & Mishaps





	Curtesy Call

"Why? Why did you do it! After everything! I loved you!"

“You never loved me! How could you treat me this way?”

~

“And cut!” Their director called out.

She stepped back, tears instantly gone, and then popped her jaw. That was one of the first things he noticed about her. It was a tick, one that she desperately tried to hide with her endless supply of chewing gum.

As if on cue, she pulled a strip from her pocket and placed it into her mouth, blowing a bubble or two between smacking. He personally thought the habit was more noticeable than the jaw-popping, but no one else noticed. It was their own little secret.

After her third or fourth bubble deflated, she placed a pinky in her mouth before wiping away at any remaining tears in her eyes. She saved her waterproof mascara for dress rehearsals and opening night, never a script reading. He once heard her reason with the other women in the troupe that the stage made her so sweaty, she would have to fix her make-up regardless.

What she needed it for after work, he didn’t know. She wasn’t an introvert by any means, but she didn’t have the most active personal life, either. None of them did.

Rumor had it she got a new boyfriend.

He liked to think it was the sense of normality that brought her back to the habit. He knew that was the most important aspect for him. Most actors need costumes and sets to truly get into character, but everything ironically felt less real to him later down the production line. It was now, when she was wearing her common blue blouse and that pink skirt which was long enough to be modest but not too modest, and her hair up in a messy ponytail, which suggested that her alarm was glitching again – it was when she came in looking as she does every single day, that the arguments and proclamations of love and desire felt real.

As close to real as he could get with her, anyway. Onstage, he could see her go through a symphony of emotions in the course of two hours, he could hear her voice range from pure ecstatic bliss to utter bleak despair, and even to cold, harsh resentment. She had all the makings of an actress, he would never deny that. It was no wonder why she was often picked for leading lady.

Yet offstage, he would swear she had two emotions – tired, as in, before her morning coffee, and happy. Even then, her latter emotion would outshine the first, as he noticed after a few times of coming in early. He could see her yawning and rubbing a palm against her eyes as she slouched into her knees and attempt to inconspicuously drift off ever so slightly. But she would still be smiling, still waving with enthusiasm as the rest of their troupe would slowly enter the building.

And always with that same tone of voice.

“Oh my god, hi!” 

That last word she would bring to a high pitch, and let it hang in the air, as if it had been years since their last interaction, rather than a five-day-a-week schedule.

Apparently, this was genuine, he had to assume. At first, he thought she was only greeting the women this way. Then, he thought it was most likely because Anzu and Vivian often brought a third cup of coffee, but her reaction was the same regardless on the situation. He kept making excuses, and she kept overturning them until he eventually had to concede that she, in fact, was just always happy to see her co-workers.

They weren’t as interesting, however. He didn’t particularly carry a high amount of intrigue when he observed their general range of emotions. Seeing Otogi be angry offstage wasn’t anything noteworthy, he acted the same way as he did onstage. Same with Anzu or Vivian. They had all been angry at one point, or another.

Mostly at him.

Not her, though. Onstage was the only time he would ever see her throw a tantrum, and he would be left there to wonder what on earth could have upset the Bubblegum Blonde to such a point where she would be able to project such a raw reaction. Did a parent walk out on her? Had a friend betrayed her at one point? Did her tomagotchi die as a child? He simply had no idea.

He often wondered what would happen if one day she opened that door, and came backstage with eyes red from crying. He had no doubt the whole troupe would rush to comfort her, and she would be furiously wiping away, repeating over and over that she was fine, that it was nothing, that they needed to focus on work.

But that was his deduction. Everyone enjoyed her, so it made sense that they would want to console her. Then she was a dedicated worker, so naturally she would not hesitate to put her job before her feelings. Yet, there would be the slight nagging sensation, because he could never be completely certain that this would be the exact outcome of events.

What if everyone did not console her? What if Otogi and Vivian were more self-absorbed than he gave credit for? What if she was not such a dedicated worker that she couldn’t resist putting her feelings before work, and came in only for the sympathy, to announce what had happened to her main source of social interaction, and allow them to carry the burden along with her?

Most importantly, something he tended to overlook regardless of that matter, what exactly would he do? Would he be allowed to approach and comfort her? Would that be an acceptable, albeit, welcomed gesture? Would the others approve or deny his actions? And then what was he supposed to say on the matter? He supposed it would depend on the situation, what exactly had made her cry.

It was that revelation that kept him grounded. He had fantasized this scenario so often, he typically forgot whether it had actually occurred or not. Picturing her with a look of distress and hopelessness, eyes wide and damp, was all too easy. He had seen that exact look dozens of times over the last few years. 

But it always ended. One word from the director, or scene shift, or any other sort of interruption, and those tears were instantly gone. Sure, she would have to wipe off the residue, but she would immediately bounce back into that happy persona she wore at all times until the scene called for otherwise.

In a strange way, he admired her for it. This technique of hers was similar to how he carried himself – withholding all genuine emotion until it could be played out, and then ended. It never had to be real. 

None of this ever needed to be real.

It would cross his mind, time and time again, that perhaps she was just able to observe and mimic other people’s emotions, replicate them for monetary gain. And he too, had a limited palate of actual emotions. Yet, because “happiness” wasn’t really one of them, not in a visibly or socially acceptable manner, people felt the need to get on his case about it. Admittedly, most of his family had been fairly surprised when he announced taking this sort of route. It made perfect sense to him. He was always acting.

Then here she was, readily expressing only exhaustion and glee, which satisfied everyone around her.

Including him.

And then there was that time in the gym.

The popping of a gum bubble brought him back to the present. She had her phone out, text messages open, but he couldn’t read them from his distance. The director was giving instructions, and she nodded her head occasionally.

“And Ishtar...” Pegasus began, turning his attention. He closed his eyes to hide the fact that he was rolling them before looking over at his boss, already mentally processing the myriad of criticisms surely about to come his way.

As he said, it was no wonder why she was often picked as the leading lady, her skills weren’t to be denied, and the other women never really got jealous. Visibly, at any rate. It was, however, a bit of a shock to the troupe, and himself especially, when he, for once, was cast as the leading man.

There was visible jealousy, then.

But she had only shown the utmost enthusiasm.

“Congratulations!” She had cried out as they stood side by side, reading the casting list. She flung her arms around him, fingertips barely touching behind his back as she pressed her cheek into his chest. He held his breath. And just like that, she had pulled off of him, offered up one more smile, and turned to walk away, phone already in hand. 

He didn’t know which aspect of the situation to react to first. Typically, the roles he was cast in required interaction with the main characters, which were almost always the men. Outside of one or two roles, they were hardly ever on set at the same time. And now he was about to play offset of her, their scenes would be the most prevalent in the production. They would have to spend hours, weeks, months, building believable chemistry to convince a crowd of paying audience that they had a natural kind of love between them.

The thought made him wonder if she was already getting a head start – as if she had realized as quickly as he did the amount of work and unfamiliar territory ahead of them, and wanted to get down to building up that crowd-convincing chemistry right away – that she had only hugged him because their characters would have embraced.

It was her job, after all.

Her scent still wafted in the air, and he stood there a moment longer, replaying again and again the slight tensing of her muscles as she had attempted to make her fingertips touch, the different curves of her face as he felt where her eyes had been placed and where her cheekbone ended.

It had been later, that very day, when he had first noticed that she popped her jaw.

...

There was only one time any of this might have been real. 

He didn’t have many hobbies, but he liked going to the local gym. Helped him to relax, especially since none of these surroundings were associated with work. His running on the treadmill, or lifting weights had nothing to do with his irritation at Otogi, or Vivian or Anzu or any of the others who might have happened to say the wrong thing at the wrong time towards him. 

Had nothing to do with Pegasus’s continued threats on his limited number of seasons if he couldn’t get his act together.

And it certainly had nothing to do with – 

“Ishtar?”

He didn’t wear headphones, so the voice hit him immediately, echoing just barely above the surrounding noises, and a small set of on-lookers couldn’t resist turning their heads in curiosity.

There she stood, water bottle in one hand, phone in the other. 

He couldn’t help but momentarily wonder if she only ever bought clothes in that exact shade of blue. Her hair was tied up in a way similar to how she would have it when she came to work tired, but it was cleaner, tighter, intentional. He squinted a little, wiping away at his sweat before fully acknowledging that she wasn’t wearing any make-up.

Which, of course, made logical sense, but this was his first time seeing her without. Not that it made a drastic change, although he was a little surprised to note that she had a handful of pimples littering her cheeks. Unsurprisingly, however, were the faded purple bags under her eyes.

Most notably, especially with her grin widening, she was still chewing gum.

“Oh, my god, hi!” The same greeting she gave every morning, in the same note, every day.

It was then he realized he hadn’t yet responded to her greeting. He paused the treadmill and turned, waving his arm awkwardly as he did so.

“I didn’t know you worked out here!” She declared, returning the wave with more enthusiasm. “My roommate and I just started renting in this neighborhood, how wild is that?”

He couldn’t decipher if she was lying or not, because in fact, he didn’t know what she looked like when lying. Of course, he knew, but only when she was on stage. He understood her motivation then – to create an illusion for the audience. What would be her motivation for approaching him now, in an unfamiliar setting? Would she be the type to even have a motive?

Most importantly, however, what was he supposed to do now that she was here?

Was this to be an ongoing occurrence? From now on, whenever he went to his gym, there would be this distinct possibility of running into her? The idea of it didn’t unsettle him as much as the uncertainty of the situation. She had found him outside of work – would she want to further on that?

What if one day she asked him for coffee after a workout, or to go over notes from the director? What if she asked him for lunch just because? Was that something she would do? What excuse would he have to give to get out of it? 

It did occur to him, also, the possibility to finally see her outside of work – as in, see her range of emotion, understand more about her as a person, understand how much of her was real and how much was for show. 

Then again, this really was his personal time, was he willing to sacrifice that just for this opportunity?

But when would another chance like this come up?

She made her way to the treadmill next to his, placed in her headphones and turned it on. Well, at least she didn’t expect conversation, it was the least she could do after causing this internal conflict to well up inside him.

It still took him a moment to realize he should probably stop staring at her.

She did not ask him out for coffee to go over notes when they finished, nor did she ask him to lunch. When he headed out the door to leave, she shot him a friendly glance and a hearty wave before continuing her routine.

He frowned, deciding to himself that he would have to sleep on the prospects of coming back.

...

They stood on the stage, director instructing from the audience chairs where they’re meant to stand, explaining briefly the motivation of the scene, and repeated his criticisms over how to improve from previous practices, both of them nodding in accordance. 

She took her place, he took his. 

Pegasus called out “Action!” and then it began.

He had rarely seen her work up so close, right up in his face. He could recall the very first time it had happened – which was easy to do, because it had been an emotion her characters did not often display, but one his character often invoked. 

Fear.

It had been a dramatic scene involving the heroine and the villain, bringing forth some added tension to the scene right before the hero entered and brought about the climax. 

Her eyes had been widening and her pupils dilated, the way she had put out her lower lip and let it tremble ever so slightly, as his character grabbed onto her character’s wrist, pulling her in close as he explained his evil plan. It was the first time he had ever touched her. He could still remember the exact placement of her bones, how thin her skin was over them, how much softer she was in comparison to his callused hands. 

Then her fear had turned to anger. She had yanked away from his grip, because it had been what the script called for, but he knew that if the situation had been real, he could have held on. He had been able to stare directly into her eyes, watch her watch him, trying so hard to stay in character, but he knew to some extent, she was sincerely scared of him.

Not many from their troupe could probably say the same.

He always liked to believe that the anger which played across her face, regardless of what the script called for, came so easily because she had recognized his epiphany, and she could no longer hide behind that bubbly persona of hers. If they hadn’t been performing in front of a crowd with microphones on at the time, he knew she would have popped her jaw. And she knew it too.

Three little secrets between them.

The last night of that particular play had hit him brutally. 

For a week, he would go home, shut his eyes, and see only her, a face so terrified and angry, but a body that was cool, calm, and in control. What would it take to get her body language to match the facial? He opened and closed his hand, often throwing it out and catching away at the empty air around him.

And now, here they were. She was once again the heroine, but him no longer the villain. He was the hero. The one their audience would root and cheer on to get the girl in the end.

Not only that, but he had felt so much more of her. First just the wrist, then that hug during casting call, and all throughout the play, scenes would call for them to embrace, to hold hands, and at some points, his character was called to place her head between his palms.

The skin on her cheeks was much softer than her wrist had been, he could feel the muscles tense up and down as she breathed. He could even feel her blink against the tips of his thumbs, but his attention was much more honed in on the fact that he was once again allowed to stare into her eyes.

She didn’t have fear this time, not even a little. Her brows were furrowed and her jaw was tense, but he could still see the playful nature in her eyes. 

She was lying. She was lying.

And then she broke away from his grip, now fully in character, tears beginning to form as she pointed and shouted.

“You never loved me! How could you treat me this way?”

The hand which pointed at him with such accusation was trembling, her head shaking furiously, and even her feet stood firm as she sold out the rest of the troupe on her lies. But not him. He watched her pant, tears now streaming down her red, blotchy cheeks, as he wondered what would have to be done to bring this out in earnest.

He smiled.

She was beautiful. 

...

The following morning, he had shown up early to work. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, he often didn’t have a reason to prolong his commute over to the theater.

He stood out there, his breath visible, hands in his pockets as he waited. Normally, the director was the next person to come. Or other members of their troupe would show up and wait alongside him. Neither party was ever happy when it happened, but at least he had the decency to just stare forward and not acknowledge them, as opposed to their weak attempts at conversation.

She never came in early. Seldom late, but never early. She was a fairly punctual person. It made him wonder if she was in a place where she woke up every morning, and didn’t feel the urgency to get to work immediately. A place where she could tolerate her presence just a little bit longer, before getting on the bus or however she commuted, and starting her day.

At least he knew now that she had a roommate. 

It was still a debate in his mind on whether or not to take her up on her offer to get together after workout sessions. Then he paused, frowned, remembering that this offer has not actually been made yet. Which, to some degree, actually rather surprised him. Didn’t she want to get to know her co-actor a little better, build some rapport?

Lights flared up right then, momentarily forcing him to cover his eyes, before the source registered in his head, and he flung himself out of the way. The car came to a screeching halt, swerving significantly to the side, before the passenger door flung open.

“Oh my god, are you alright?”

He pulled himself together, wiping gravel off of his shirt, and then turned to face her. She was midway between him and the car, running in his direction, placing her hands on his chest and forearm once reaching him.

“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

He shook his head.

“No, no... I’m alright.” He managed to say. He couldn’t bring himself to look into her face, no matter how tempting it was. To analyze this new expression, to judge how much of it was real. 

But he could hear enough of it in her voice – pity. 

Directed at him. 

He would have preferred being run over.

In the driver’s seat sat a girl who could have been his co-worker’s brunette twin. He perked up at that revelation – he also had a twin. 

“Ishtar, this is my roommate, Mana...” she began to explain, pointing with one hand. The other was still wrapped around his arm, attempting to help him steady. “We’re half-sisters, she’s new to Japan you see, still learning how to drive...”

It wasn’t lost on him that she was trying to make up excuses so he wouldn’t think to press charges or at the very least become extremely angry. Which he should have, he had every right to be. But the new disclosures occupied his mind. So much so, that it was only now when he noticed the expression on the driver’s face. 

He supposed he had expected it to be a look of concern, either for him or the state of her license or both. But instead, her jaw was tense and her eyebrows furrowed. She was angry at him.

What for? He had never seen her before, and she was the one who had almost run him over. Judging on how his co-worker was reacting, he doubted she went home and put in a bad word. Had this driver mistaken him for someone else?

She rolled down her window about halfway, tilted her head up slightly and called out.

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

He just nodded as his co-worker pulled out a stick of gum.

...

“Why don’t you just ask her out then?”

He looked over at his brother, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, playing some kind of game on his phone.

“What?”

“This girl, you’re constantly talking about her.” He shoved a dorayaki into his mouth, wiping the crumbs off of his lower lip before continuing. “I mean, you’re hard to figure most days, but I think for a lot of people, that signifies a crush.”

His words came out garbled as he attempted to speak with his mouth full, but the meaning still came out clear. Malik turned his eyes down, looking for a response. But there wasn’t one to give. 

He sat there, puzzled. Was that all he had been going through with this person? All this confusion and curiosity, this need to understand... was all simply an infatuation? He had always thought it was more complicated than that, something particular that existed between the two of them alone. Yet the way his brother had phrased it had made the situation sound so... ordinary.

It seemed like such a contradiction of her. Of course, that had been his first interpretation, that she was commonplace. Conventional. Since then, what had she really become to him? His life, the actions he played out, weren’t especially remarkable. He would wake up, go to work, come home, usually order take-out for dinner, work out on Sundays. That was about it.

But he liked thinking about her. She was right there, every day, he had reasonable access and excuses to observe her actions, to try and guess her motivations, and imagine scenarios. Somehow all that didn’t feel simply like a crush.

“Well?”

His brother spoke up a little louder than was probably necessary, but these little zone-out episodes happened frequently enough. He didn’t have the energy to get annoyed.

“Pretty sure she has a boyfriend.”

“She mentioned so?”

“I think.”

He truthfully didn’t know. He would occasionally manage to sneak a peek into the women’s changing room, when they held the door open wide enough for all of them to enter, and caught on enough. Was it her boyfriend the others had mentioned, or their own?

She wasn’t dating anyone in the troupe, despite a few of their best efforts. Maybe that was what led him to believing she had a boyfriend.

He pondered over the idea of her having a boyfriend, and tried to conjure up some emotion over it. Weren’t people with crushes supposed to get jealous or something?

But he wasn’t, in fact, he would say in that moment, he felt relieved.

The whole reason he had gotten so interested in acting was because he could be just about anyone, do just about anything. But at the end of the day, he would pack up, go home, and return to clock in the next day. It wasn’t real.

They played lovers on stage. The story had them go through all the trials and tribulations of being a couple. They met, they fell in love, they went through hardships and argued, even walked out on the relationship, only to finally return to each other’s arms in the end. 

A good, happy ending. 

As everyone hopes so for their own relationship.

But theirs was without any real effort or struggle, it was all just pretend. They could be shouting at each other one second, breaking for lunch the next. Who was to say they could be so lucky if he actually went up and asked her on a date. Could anyone promise they would never fight, never go to bed angry, or break-up and grow bitter towards each other?

Would he leave her, or would she leave him?

Or the other option, what if it all went right? What if she happily said yes, and it turned out they were perfect together, and stayed that way for years, got married, grew old and on their deathbeds, everyone around would say that there had never been a love more passionate than theirs?

Or what if it was just mediocre? They were simply another couple, passion died down but still caring, the occasional fight, same routine every single day for the rest of their lives.

The thought of that closure, the idea of her knowing him so intimately, in such a vulnerable state, frightened him more than anything he could comprehend.

He heard rustling, and realized his brother was sorting through papers on the desk nearby, and picked up a brochure from their previous play. He pointed at the blonde woman in the center.

“This her?”

“Yeah...”

Malik nodded, setting it down and picking up a second dorayaki. “She’s got that sister, right? Mana?”

He turned to look up. “How do you know that?”

His brother shrugged. “I have a class with her. She’s pretty cool. Thinks very highly of her sister.”

“She tried to run me over yesterday morning.”

Malik snorted. “I’m not surprised, I – “ 

He stopped, suddenly drumming his fingers against the desk.

“What?” He stood up slightly, eyes on his brother, who had his back to him. “What did you do?”

“Nothing...” came the rushed explanation. Still without looking at him, his head moved back and forth as his eyes darted around, spotting his jacket on the floor. He picked it up, and walked towards the door, not bothering to stop as he threw it around himself. “I gotta go.”

He almost got up to follow, but was just barely on his feet by the time he heard the doorknob click.

...

Sometime after his brother had left, he decided to go out for a walk. Locking his apartment behind him, he pulled his hoodie up higher on his shoulders – he didn’t get cold easily but it was still the middle of the night. His complex wasn’t exactly the safest place in Japan, but nothing really terrible had ever happened in all his time living out here, however that might just be due to his generally intimidating aura.

The outside air smelled of cigarettes, and somewhere down the hall he could hear mild shouting, but he was unsure if it was an argument or an investment in a movie. He decided to stay along where the streetlights strung along the sidewalk, and headed onward. 

A car passed by him at that moment, headlights temporally illuminating his pathway.

He turned back to the earlier conversation – something about it had bothered him, still. What exactly had Malik been thinking to suggest that his feelings were the result of an infatuation? He forgot just how unreadable he was to other people, and then it clicked. 

If his brother had come to the conclusion that he had a crush, did others make that same assumption?

Had she?

That time in the gym, what had been her objective in getting to know him? Or the other morning, when he had nearly been run over, he could almost imagine her getting excited at seeing him, and urged her sister to hurry and park so she would be able to get out and greet him.

Was it possible that her actions were attempts at flirting?

Another car passed, this time from the other direction, causing him to turn his face down momentarily. The roads weren’t all too busy in this neighborhood, but there were still people prowling around this hour time and time again.

Suppose he did ask this girl out, what would happen? He would have to play it cool at first, make it casual, go over notes for the upcoming performance and all that. Meet her in a public place so she wouldn’t feel too awkward.

That’s if she even said yes.

But suppose she did say yes?

Another car passed.

Even more than that, suppose his brother was right, suppose all this intrigue was merely a crush, what would it mean for her to like him back? What kind of person would she have to be in order to be attracted to someone like him?

Another car passed, this time veering off the road somewhat. That was subjective, however, considering there was no official sidewalk. It was just a patch of dirt for cars, between more patches of slightly green grass. Still, the action caused him to move more to the left. 

Was there a chance that, without the mystery, his interest in her would wane? 

Potentially. 

But, there was still the very real sense that she would be the opposite of everything he had ever anticipated her to be.

Suppose he really got the chance to know her? The idea of her knowing him, the idea of anyone really knowing him, still made him anxious, but simultaneously, there was this need to know her. He had so many ideas about her, so many theories he had built up in his head, over how she might react and behave in certain situations, but what would it be to actually sit down and discuss these sorts of things with her?

To see her, completely, for who she really was.

It was decided then. 

He was going to ask her out.

Then, his world turned white. He didn’t register the pain – his mind went into shock long before his body did. At most, his ears were ringing loudly, even more so than the impact, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that his left leg was twisted in the wrong position. It was his stomach that felt the most bent out of shape, and he thought about how ironic that was as he curled over and vomited into the grass.

No other part of his body would move.

The crunching of tires could be heard vaguely above the ringing in his ears, as the car sped away. He was certain he left a sizable dent in the hood, and something about that made him satisfied. He had to remain focused on the little, petty aspects of all this. It was better than accepting the fact that he had just barely survived a hit-and-run, and all the consequences that entailed.

He continued to lay there, and started to concentrate on which body parts could do what. Obviously, his leg was broken, and he was fairly certain a rib or two were cracked. His arms were pretty beat up, but generally, they seemed alright. Same with his neck. The ringing in his ears had subsided, and he could hear the night around him.

Turning his head upward, he glanced around to try and determine how far away he was from his apartment. It was on a different corner, but in a few hours, he would maybe have enough strength to be able to drag his limp body back. The stairs would be impossible, but if he managed that far, perhaps a neighbor would notice and call an ambulance. 

He groaned, more at the thought of relying on other people to help him than anything, but also at himself for leaving behind his cell phone. 

Whatever it took though, even if he didn’t like it. He would just have to stay off of the roads until then, and judging by the grass under his face, he guessed that he had been thrown a bit away from them, anyway.

Briefly, he wondered if he had a concussion, and if it was a safe idea to sleep, and then laughed bitterly at the concept of some random pedestrian walking by and mistaking him for a corpse. The laughter hurt his chest, and he vomited again.

“Oh, my god!”

A voice called out.

His eyes shot wide open.

No, it couldn’t be. 

It just couldn’t be. 

Why here, and why now? 

She was the absolute last person he wanted to see. It didn’t matter to him if her coming over at this very moment was the only means of living to see the next day. He didn’t need her to see him at this complete and utter level of vulnerability. He didn’t need to see the pity in her eyes.

It was all too much.

But, it happened anyway.

And then, there she was, flipping him onto his back, him grimacing at the movement. She took off her jacket, wiped away at his mouth with the sleeve before bundling up and placing it beneath his head. She then put an ear to his chest, causing him to groan, before going to check his pulse.

“Ok, your breathing is fine, I don’t think you need CPR...”

He couldn’t tell if she was relieved by that or not.

“I’m calling an ambulance!”

She pulled out her cell phone, and he took note that it was a different color. She must have gotten a new one. Was it her own money, or a family member’s? Her cousin was in town, maybe it had been a gift.

“Hello? Yes, someone’s been hurt!” She said frantically, both hands on the phone, as if she was afraid that letting go meant it would disappear from this reality. Maybe she was afraid of breaking it in a panic. Maybe she was genuinely concerned for him. “We’re... oh god, I don’t know where we are, some dirt road... wait, I think I see a sign, let me go check!”

She ran out of his sight, but he could still hear her yelling out a street name. She must have been drawing attention to them by now, even in these early hours. 

How had she gotten here so quickly?

“They’re coming, but it’s going to take some time to get down here, just hold on, please! Please, hold on!”

She took his hand into hers. It took both to cover his completely, she was so much smaller than him, and he wondered where her phone had gone, if she had ever really even had it, if she had even called for an ambulance. If she was even really here, or if this had happened.

But he could feel her hands, one thumb against his palm, the other pressed on his knuckles, and he noted how this wasn’t the first time he had felt the exact size and shape of them. He could learn them by heart, if he committed to that. First, her hands, and then her hair, and then her face and down from there, he could memorize her.

Then, something wet hit him. His eyes narrowed in, and he soon realized that she was crying. More than that, desperate sobs channeled alongside her heavy breathing, her chest moving in and out, and up and down as her lower lip trembled. Her eyes were so full of tears, she had to blink and let them drain out before being able to properly look down at him again.

This was completely different from seeing her cry on stage. It took him getting run over by a car to finally learn her basis for comparison. And this, he knew, would become a horrible memory she would spring back to the forefront of her mind now and forever when a scene called for tears.

She was the only thing real to him.

He attempted to move his lips, and it wasn’t until then that he realized how dry and chap they were, but he couldn’t be bothered to lick them – wouldn’t do much good, anyway – his whole mouth was dry. But he wanted, more than anything, to say these words. If these were his last words on this earth, then he could manage to say them, and to hell with whatever happened afterwards.

Dried, crack, and still tasting of vomit, he opened his mouth, and said her name.

The tears in her eyes dried slightly, a look of surprise taking over her face. He focused on how her hands hadn’t lost their grip, and how she had leaned in closer to him. He repeated her name, even though he had her complete attention.

He nearly choked on the words, but there they were – spoken out loud, and now free in the open.

“Will... you go out with me?” 

Her eyes widened, the last of the tears falling down her cheeks as she froze, jaw and arms dropping. Then, she took on a new expression – her face furrowed and creased, eyebrows sinking so low down her forehead, her lips tightening so hard, they lost a bit of their color. At that time, more tears poured down her face, but he knew there wasn’t a hint of sadness in them.

The two emotions he had been so desperate to see off-stage, to understand what it took to absolutely infuriate her, to know, with certainty, the memories she used as comparisons for her performances on the stage.

He smiled.

There it was.


End file.
